Bless Me, William
by Isabelle
Summary: COMPLETE!! Set post Season 7 with NO SPOILERS. What if all of the scoobies die and the only ones left are Buffy and Spike. Would they really be alive then? Very dark, series completed, will post 2 chapters every other day *g*
1. The Velveteen Rabbity Slayer

The Velveteen Rabbity Slayer

by Isabelle

Rating: STRONG R --sex scenes, people. 

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, lalalalala 

Summary: So they all die, do those that stay alive die too? 

A/N: Heller, I love you, you know that =) 

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It can feel so dark inside of yourself when the world is gone from you and all that if left is ashes. Ashes are life's first growth, for it comes from nothing, it comes from the unknown, it comes for a new beginning. Like one of those cheap scary movies that have the music thumping, your heart beating, your palms sweaty. Like one of those. 

It's one of those feelings. Alone, so very alone. Like no one in this world understands you, like all the talk is too bright and all the murmurs are shouts and all of the whispers are torments of death. 

It felt kinda like that. 

Alone, so very alone. She loved this feeling as much as she hated it and both were very strong. She just wanted to shield herself from the world, wanted to die in that very spot, to be taken away, so far far away. Until all that was self was carnage in it's purest send of the word. 

Carnage, the very definition of her soul. 

She was tired, so very tired. So tired she couldn't stand, couldn't breath--just waiting the seconds until she could no longer move, until she would no longer be part of this dirt we called earth. 

Let her rest in peace, she begged. 

Let her rest in peace. 

The night was quiet, as was the world when he came in --stumbling through boxes and debris, through wood planes that were too dangerous, his though boots making soft echoing sounds in the earth until she felt his presence in front of her. 

She wished she were smaller, she wished she could curl up and simply died, shaking and murmuring insanities, like the dying athlete of Athens. 

At the end, we just want to be alone, because no one will ever feel the fever inside of one self when one if dying,. no one will ever understand it. No one will ever compare to it. 

"I know what it's like." 

Soft echoes in the night, skylark that is dying, sound that is barely identifiable, sound that is not recognized on echoing ear and pale faces that desire passing--in peace. 

She feels him closer now, she can't see, nor does she want to--for his to be the last face she ever sees makes her few last minutes a living hell before eternity. 

"Go..." she whispers, a beg, a plea, asking him on her knees-now-belly that he's not welcome. That no one is welcome. 

That nothing is worth this. That the world holds no meaning. 

In seconds she feels like shouting at the top of her lungs that it's all not fair that it's all not worth it that she should be rewarded in some way, that this is fucking shit and it's was not worth it. She should've ran the first chance she had all those years ago. 

And what now feels foreign and once felt right envelops her in his arms, pressing her bloody head against his burnt chest and beginning this soft rocking motion that has been told from generation to generation. 

"Shh.." 

Was she crying, was she weeping that he would find the need to comfort her. Was she melting? Maybe she was melting, maybe she was fading into the abyss. Well, on her way to the abyss she might as well content her should in her soul's wishes. Even if she was in catatonia. 

Even if she was...broken. 

Even then. 

"Let's get you out of here." he whispered. 

That is when she shrieked to the top of her lungs, fighting with all of her rabbit strength, fighting like there was a war to fight and indeed there was. Their everlasting war. The war that never ended. 

"Stop it, Buffy! It's over! There's nothing for us here now!" He shouts. Shouts that echo from mountain and swim through rivers. His voice is a velveteen rabbit, luring her, asking her to live with a single syllable. 

"No!!!!!" she scratches his face, hurts him more, fights him off--she WILL; die here, even if she has to kill him to do it. 

But his hands are now more strong and his will is more determined than her dying one. "I'm not leaving you, you're coming with me!" 

"No!!!!" she's sobbing like a lost puppy dog that has lost their threat, she hates him for it, she hates him. She hates herself and all of the world for bringing her such burden, for trusting this grand responsibility on her should her, small delicate shoulders that are barely a size 2. 

Amidst her 'no' and complains he manages to wrap her in his leather torn coat and carry her out of there, into a place she no longer remembered because she passed out. 

And that is when her life started. 

------- -------- 

She never wanted adventure, she wanted the norm. But the norm did not want her and she was doomed to accept her Alias-type life for al of eternity. It was a curse. 

She woke up a few days later, all washed and cleaned, wrapped in gauze and lying on a motel room bed. 

Blinking was an effort that she managed since she felt numb all over. 

"The pills I gave you might have you numb for some time." 

She jumped at the sound of his voice. Her was sitting next to her, looking the same way she remembered him, dirty and bloodied. 

She didn't speak but turned away and looked at the opened curtains and the daylight that felt through. 

He wasn't on fire and never was going to be on fire--ever again. He was human now, like everything else in Sunnydale, like everything else in the world. 

The great slayer had taken all of the demons away. 

He stayed because of his soul. Now he was a real boy. A normal boy, who should be in the hospital with those wounds. 

"Should I close the blinds?" she felt him stand from the double bed. He walked to the window and sighed and he looked out, she watched him carefully. "Just feels nice, you know--just looking at the light like I belong." 

"You do belong," were the last words she said before she feel asleep once more. 

------- ------------- 

When she woke up the next time he was having a resting session with the gauze he was trying to wrap around his naked torso. She figured he had a good 4 broken ribs by the show of the bruises painting his creamy skin. 

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said apologetically when he found her staring at him. He flushed deep pink and set the gauze down. 

She shrugged and looked away. 

"How long have I been gone?" she asked. 

"10 hours." he paused and looked down at his hands. "3 days before that." 

She didn't move or say anything, but he could tell what she was thinking. Three and 10 hours before they would've been alive. 

The pressure in her head came sudden and swift and she had to close her eyes to shy away from it. 

"I think you have a concussion, would've taken you to the hospital but it was destroyed...raised you on a bunch of pillow....best I could do." 

His words were a background track they play at movies, all she could see were eyes, her eyes--remembering the memories, remembering the past. 

"Hungry?" he asked hopefully, bringing over what undoubtedly was a cold burger and soggy fries with watered down Sprite. 

She looked into his steady eyes. 

"You should've left me to die there, Spike." She turned her head the other way and slept once more. 

--------- ---------- 

She woke up various times, always refusing food, always hating him. 

But he took it. Like most of the time he took it like he always did. 

But on the 4th day after she had first woken up it was not the rays of the sun that stirred her, it was his shoving a milkshake down her throat. 

She gagged and spit it out on his face. She tried it again until all the struggling almost choked her. It came out of her nose and some went down her throat. 

She hated him for it and forced herself to puke on the sheets. 

Then curled herself on them. 

He grabbed her legs and pulled her off the bed, making her fall on the floor with a 'thud'. 

"Spike!" she shouted, trying to stand up. But he quickly grabbed her upper arms and stood her up on shaky feet. 

"Clean it!" he told her, evenly, pointing at the messy sheets. 

"Fuck you!" she shouted and threw them at him. 

"Done already!" he shouted back and shoved her into the bathroom, sheets behind her. 

He then locked the door and her and dirty sheets inside. 

She pounded on the door various times but the non-food factor made her week. 

She was so weak, so very weak. 

She sat herself on the toilet and wept. 

After what seemed like hours he opened the door and stood there with new sheets. 

"Get cleaned up, I'll change the sheets." She sniffled and nodded, leaving the door opened as she stepped into the show nude. 

There was nothing he hadn't seen, and there was nothing worth hiding. 

She let the hot water make her into living scorching skin, it was so hot that he stormed into the bathroom and pulled her out, wrapped her in a fluffy white towel. He towel tried her gently, then carried her to her bed where he paced a plate of warm food before her. Steamed veggies that would've had her mouth watering weeks ago. 

Now they only brought disgust. 

She came to the conclusion that if she could not get away with fighting, she would get away with pleading. 

"Spike..." she said gently and as rationally as she could, she looked up to his eyes, pleadingly. "Go now. You're free. Please...find a girl that you can love and she can love you back. Find someone who is fresh and new and hadn't seen all of the horrors I have. Just please.." 

He stood up abruptly. "I already have." he placed a bottled water next to her. "Now eat, before I lose her." 

"You should've left me to die." she whispered. 

"You were dead when I found you." he told her back then walked into to shower himself. 

------

go to part 2


	2. Cholera, My Friend

Cholera, My Friend

by Isabelle

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, lalalalala

Summary: I am weakest when you're near me.

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She hated above all things the fact that he was usually right, in all of his probing and poking she was almost to her full health by the 8th day. And she hated him more than ever at that moment.

Hating him came easy in the past, but after confessions of love a few days ago it was even harder. She then discovered that love was very much like hate because love makes you nothing and nothing is never what she wants to be again.

She did love him, despite all of her protests and she wondered if loving him was the reason she allowed herself to live with this dull ache she found constantly in the middle of her chest.

She remembered how he held her that night before the battle. Just held her all night long, gave her strength, gave her support, gave her morality.

She would've loved him forever that night, she would run away with him if he would've just asked. And Spike-pre soul would've found the first train out of there...but not this self-righteous Spike.

Damn him and his morality.

She hardly ate, he force fed her--meals were their daily battle that would ends in tears and shakes.

Eating meant living.

She realized that if she really wanted to die she wouldn't eat.

The problem was that he also knew this, he knew she was putting on a show of mourning. She idly wondered how long he would let her act this way.

---------- ----------

One morning she woke to find him gone. That had never happened.

Two thoughts crossed her mind when she realized he was gone.

1- she had time to escape this misery of a life and be done with herself.

The second came to her mind when he would walk in to find her body.

What would he do.

She realized that she couldn't leave him behind--not like this. It wouldn't be fair to him, and he was the one person who had always placed her before him. For Willow, she would've died. For Angel, she would've died. But not for Spike--because her death would mean his.

She waited one hour for him to return. He did not come.

She waited two hours for him to return. He did not come.

She waited three hours for him to return. He did not come.

At the 7th hour her hands were shaking, her stomach turning, her mind racing.

So where her legs.

She ran down to the lobby, ignoring the curious faces of the people who saw her bruised face.

The receptionist was young, polite and with a plastic smile on her face.

"Miss Summers, how can I help you?" she asked.

Buffy wondered how the heck could Spike afford this hotel room, in whatever city they were in.

Not bothering to wonder why she knew her name, just demanded to know if she'd seen Spike--no description was necessary.

"He's in the bar, Miss Summers. The second left down that corridor." she smiled, and picked up the phone, answering the next customer with answers to questions before they were asked.

Buffy idly wondered if she should've changed her clothes before heading down here. But it was too late now, she had an ex-vampire to bitch at.

Being 2PM the bar was relatively empty.

He was sitting in a booth, by himself while the lonely piano man played on.

----- --------

Sitting before him, watching him closely, taking in the fine lines that had already appeared under his eyes. He looked older. Way older than that vampire that crashed through her school window on parent-teacher night.

She'd done that to him.

She made him older, more tired.

"I figured that if I left you alone long enough....you'll find me someway." he told her, not looking up, just staring at his drink.

Scotch on the rocks.

She reached out for his drink and gulped down the remaining liquid in one take.

He lifted the bottle in a question.

She nodded and he refilled her glass.

They sat there, said nothing, did nothing but drink.

"People are talking, Buffy." he said 47 minutes later.

She could care less, but words were words and words were good.

"Let 'em talk." she looked up at him.

"There's been a drop in mysterious human death... went down to 5%."

She laughed, "We might've help with overpopulation."

He smiled softly at her, loving her smile, though it was a bitter one.

They remained in silence for a few more minutes when the piano man started to play 'Some Say Love'. "Ain't she your icon?" he asked, smiling.

She did love Bette Midler....a long time ago.

In the land before time. Before current time.

The soft lyrics came from the voice of a young man. They were practicing for tonight's show.

It's always practice, you know--with them it was always practice. When did the final act come? When will it get here. She was so tired of dress rehearsals.

Spike stood up, abruptly, left a few bills on the table and started to walk away.

She watched for what seemed like hours but 4 steps was all he got before she followed after him.

"Spike..."

To look into her eyes was to sink and die. He should know, he avoided her gaze.

"...dance with me. I just want to..."

"Dance," he finished for her.

"Yeah. Just to dance." She walked to him.

To touch, or not to touch. His arms softly snaked around her waist, twisting her against him. No leather to get in the way, just cotton. The fabric of her life.

Resting her head against his shoulder, and before she knew it was an embrace.

They had shared so few of these, so very few--this was a previous one. They were both dying, they were both about to be gone.

They moved so softly she could barely feel him moving.

"Spike?...." she asked, in mere whisper of a wind.

"Humm?" his warm cheek was against her head and the soft beat of his heart electrified her fingers which were just above his ivory chest skin.

"What is love?"

It took him 3 choruses to answer.

"Love is... love is... life."

"What if you no longer want to live?" she asked, voice so small, like a little girl.

"Then you must be desperate to love."

--------- ------------

Since he met her years ago, he had died--every night after that. Death was his ever constant friend, his companion.

Mouths were violent when they needed to me, hearts were more fierce.

The stumbled into the hotel room, mouths finding each other, hands touching every part of the human body, heads locking with one another, mumbles of words that could never be understood.

He managed to close the door before they hit the bed, her furious kisses had blood dripping down his neck from his lips, but he didn't care.

Pain was a teller of life.

She yanked his shirt over his head, finding one bruised nipple and latching on to it for dear life, milking the essence of him. He found a soft spot on her neck, one he had missed in the year they spent away from each other and he nibbled on it under all of her hairs were standing in attention.

She raked her broken nails down his forearms and then at his waist, desperately trying to yank his pants off.

Her shirt was done in a moment as it was ripped from her still tender flesh.

He told himself as they finished undressing each other in a fury of passion that he was asking for death, he was begging for it in the midst of her action and his responses.

They were both more dead than they'd ever been.

She staked herself on him, impaling herself with his stiff muscle, pale and throbbing--dangerously close to life. He could feel her around him, clenching rivets of muscles that begged him like her eyes did.

He found her breast, soft and pure, known and familiar. He wanted to live the rest of his life in between the valley of her breast, to dwell there and just rest there. There he could find his peace.

Peace was anything but them. Peace left them that night, like cholera, my friend--that says not when it attacks.

The bleeds them and murders them from the inside out.

And before the 4th thrust they were both coming, coming so close to the ending, coming so close to the beginning. She raked her nose against his chest, smelling him and teasing him.

His heart felt it would loose itself in her abyss, he'd never felt this way before and idly wondered if he would be considered a virgin in this human body.

Though he fucked her 101 times.

"Tell me you love me," she begged him, eyes glazing over and making him ill.

"No!" he gritted his teeth, holding himself back from giving her what she wanted before she was ready for it.

"Say it!" she backhanded him, her strength behind her hand sent his face snapping back.

Out cold.

She didn't realize he was no longer with her under she felt his cock deflate inside of her.

She gasped, looking down at him. Bruises were forming on the side of his face and he lay limp.

"Oh god..." she slid off him, her juices running down her slim tights.

He lay on the bed, completely unconscious, with his flaccid dick laid neatly between muscled thighs.

She backed up against the wall as she realized what she had done.

"No...." the word 'no' came from her mouth hundreds of times, until she was rocking herself back and forth --in shock.

It was then she realized that him being human might cause problems.

It was then that she realized that Spike was dead.

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TBC (note: this series is complete, I'm just posting 2 chapters every other day so people can catch the fiction) *g*


	3. In the Thick of It

In the Thick of It

by Isabelle

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, lalalalala. Song by Bob Dylan "Love Sick"

Summary: She can remember when she loved him, when she loved herself.

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_I'm walking through streets that are dead   
Walking, walking with you in my head   
My feet are so tired, my brain is so wired   
And the clouds are weeping_

She remembered the day she realized she could lose him. All those weeks ago. Giles had stalled her, had taken her attention away from what was important. Wood had almost killed him.

She had run like the fire that day, run like there was no tomorrow, she had never ran that fast for any other man, her was the air that was going through her hair, she couldn't live without her life she couldn't live without her soul.

But now....she wondered if she had killed him and herself on her way.

She screamed, screamed like she had no throat, screamed like the world was ending screamed....

"Ahhhhh!!!!"

She screamed for hours. Huddled in her own little corner where her own little world passed by were her own little universe was not so ok.

He was not moving and neither did she have any voice left.

Was she dead? Could you die from screaming? Could you die from guilt?

She must've passed out because she was no longer in her own body. 

Just walking, she was just walking, barefoot and in nothing but a sheer white dress. Down some European streets, down, passing children playing, passing women tending to the necessities of the house. Just walking.

She felt free, walking past young lovers that got lost in each other's eyes. 

_Did I hear someone tell a lie?  
Did I hear someone's distant cry?  
I spoke like a child; you destroyed me with a smile  
While I was sleeping_

The wind went through her hair and it was all right, he was ok, she could feel it in her skin.

"Wake up..." a mere whisper of a word.

But she wanted to keep feeling the wind in her hair, the show downs under her skin rejoiced.

"Luv...wake up."

This was not heaven, definitely not heaven. In heaven she wouldn't have known she had killed and let her self be killed by her own guilt.

Arms went around her and her against something warm and hard.

"Shhh, no crying, pet."

Was she crying? Was she weeping? How would they know, she was just a normal girl?

Was it a dream, was she gone or had she entered heaven, when it meant being surrounded by his love for the rest of eternity.

"Spike?"

"It's ok, I'm ok pet, no need to cry...."

She was naked once more, so was he. Looking up to his face, blood dripped from his lip. As if entranced she reached up to touch it, watch it meet her pale skin, watch it join her skin. Blood brothers.

"I hurt you..." she whispered, a realization, a confession.

She remembered, she had demanded his love. She would take no less. She had hit him. The force of a slayer against his poor little human head. The cranium she could smash between her small powerful hands. She was a killer, a brutal killer.

She gasped. 

"I....I'm sorry!" she wheezed, taking her last breath from her. "I just...I just wanted you to love me." she sobbed against his blood, the blood that had given him life for so long...she wanted it out of him.

--------- ---------

_I'm sick of love but I'm in the thick of it  
This kind of love I'm so sick of it_

She stopped crying three hours later.

He never left her side, pressing his naked body against her naked back, warming her with his scent, his coarse pubic hairs, softly rasping her backside. She felt content there, holding his penis between her legs. Here she was in control, yet completely vulnerable.

"You never told me what your mother was like."

She felt his entire body tense, a rapid emotion for the emotionless.

"Nice lady, I told you." He withdrew from her, pushing her away. But she held his arms. She needed to know of times past when people were alive not dead like they were.

Time where things smelled like honey and flowers flourished in Spring.

_I see, I see lovers in the meadow  
I see, I see silhouettes in the window  
I watch them 'til they're gone and they leave me hanging on  
To a shadow_

"What did she smell like, how warm were her lips against your cheek, did her arms bring any comfort? Did she love you? What is your first memory of her? What is your last..."

"She smelled like rose water... and fresh bread. Like when Mary baked it in the morning...her lips were always warm against my cheek, and her arms....her arms always brought me comfort... she loved me. Loved me more than anyone on this earth ever will. I remember when I was but 5 or 6...I got sick...and she stayed with me until I was better. Told me stories, sang me songs... I remember her eyes in the morning. They were bluest in the morning, when the sun was lending them it's rays...and my last...I don't remember."

---------- --------

They slept like that until their own stomachs begged them for nutrition. Until they laughed at the noises they made.

Walked hand in hand they did to the Chinese restaurant he'd seen. They ate rice and egg rolls. No meat. They were both stayed off meat and flesh.

_Sometimes the silence can be like the thunder  
Sometimes I wanna take to the road and plunder  
Could you ever be true?  
I think of you  
And I wonder_

It reminded her of time when they were real, when shadows were not the living but the dead and when standing outside, in the sun with Spike felt like a dream. 

But now it was sensible, ordained and real.

Was she born for this? For this darkness and futile attempts at living? What would they do tomorrow? What would they do tonight? When the love she begged for he was never ever going to be able to give it to her?

Sand would tell.

She was in love. Had been for some time and she hated it. But love...love had nothing to do with it.

_Just don't know what to do  
I'd give anything to  
Be with you_

_-------- --------_

Sand is Made


	4. Sand is Made

Sand is Made

by Isabelle

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, lalalalala. Song by Norah Jones "Come away with Me".

Summary: Nothing feels as glorious as love against you skin, death has a relative comparable feeling...she would know.

------- ----------

_Come away with me in the night   
Come away with me   
And I will write you a song_

If she were to count the good days she'd had in her life, the past 4 days would've probably been in the top of the list. Life was but a memory, and they lived not 2 inches away from each other. Constantly making love until the sun went down and came back up again. 

They had pizza, beer and danced until music would begin to play in their own subconscious. Love had nothing to do with it.

He suggested one night that they drive to the beach, that there they could watch the sun come up and rape the sea with it's rays.

She agreed, she had nothing to lose but him and anything against the norm was never said.

They checked out of the motel, grabbed what few belongings they had and went to live on the castle by the sea.... granted the castle was made of sand and public nudity was illegal but they could care less. The world outside of themselves was nothing but sand.

He told her she belonged in the sea, were sirens dwell and lure men to their deaths.

She asked him if he would come if she and to him. He told her "without a doubt".

-------- -------

_Come away with me on a bus   
Come away where they can't tempt us   
With their lies_

They loved by the sea, until the sand scratched their skins, until you couldn't tell where bruises started and where they ended. But there was always a ghost on the horizon and for every time they saw the sun come up or the sun go down, he would distract her from her tears with tales of brave knights and their ladies.

He once told her how sand was made.

That was her favorite tale and she begged him to tell her again every time the wind howled out her name and the waves sung to her death.

"They tell the tale of a girl who loved the sea, who loved the sun and loved the wind...loved everything but another person. One night, when the moon was at it brightest came by an ugly fish, which had grown legs and wandered by the shores on nights so bright. He begged her for an ivory shell, the rarest of it's kind. But the beautiful girl, never having known love had but one of the ivory shells, which was her most treasured possession. The fish told her that he was a man, a handsome man, trapped by a mad witch's curse, cursed to wander the earth until an ivory shell, touched by a pure maiden could rid him of his curse. The girl refused to believe him, and day and day--for 7 days the fish begged of her the shell. On the seventh day, as the girl climbed sharp rock after swimming with dolphins, she fell into the dark water. Hurt and confused she began to drown, and who would but rescue her but the ugly fish, which her heart hated. He saved, brought her to shore and with the tears of his eyes her wounds were healed. There, in the light of the morning she gave him her precious shell, as gratitude of his noble act. The instant his scaly hand touched the shell he was turned into a human, handsome bloke, they say--so handsome that she fell in love with him the moment she saw him. But alas, there was one thing that the man had not told her, he was a vampire. A creature of the night. having their eyes met for one moment his body turned to ash before her eyes under the rays of the rising sun.

His ashes mixing with the ground, mixed with her tears until her tears of regret and pain made the ash multiply--until it covered the entire land and was called Sand. They say she still wanders the shores, gathering bits of sand on ivory shells, hoping someday she can put her vampire together again, hoping against hope that one day she would be once more with him."

She always cried at the end of the story, she always hurt inside.

"I don't know why you make me tell it if you hate it so much." he would tell her.

"I don't hate it... I love it. Love it enough to feel it."

"I do love you, Buffy, you know?" he told her, mouth against her bare breast. Nipple that teased him and beckoned him.

"Always."

He found her shells, those times--she loved the ivory ones and would gather up sand, filling them, pretending she could put the vampire together again.

But the vampire was gone and all that was left was sand, loads of sand.

She broke down crying one day, sobbing until her heart felt like it would fall off. When he asked her why she cried, she told him "the vampire is gone, he's gone!"

-------- ---------

_I want to walk with you   
On a cloudy day   
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high   
So won't you try to come_

He decided that too much sand and too much sea was bad for her and that they needed to go somewhere inland, where the breeze was greener.

She wondeedr how the wind could change colors. He then pointed out that the wind by the beach was yellowish. She didn't argue with his painted images, imagery was all she had left.

So they drove, until the sun burned her back. They drove and drove in her mother's jeep, windows down and wind through her hair. She would rest her head on his shoulder, hold his hand and count how many hairs grew on his knuckles, then argue the number back and forth with him.

He allowed her to play with her shells inside of the car, until it got dirty, she told him she liked sand inside of the car, that sand was not meant to be forgotten, that from now on, sand would be part of them and that it would always be with them, no matter.

He asked one day if she wanted to settle down, get a house, a car...grow a family.

She told him she was not meant for none of those things, and if he wanted to stay with her he would have to be happy just with sand.

They drove to Montana, where there are hardly people and horse are a norm. She told him she wanted to steal a horse, she he did--stole a horse for her while she braided her hair with dirty hands by the moonlight.

_Come away with me and we'll kiss   
On a mountaintop   
Come away with me   
And I'll never stop loving you_

She was delighted with the horse, there was nothing grander than the horse, or grander than him for getting it for her. They rode it bareback, her before him--facing him in an embrace as he guided the horse through the fields.

The moon was kind to them that night, they rode until the mountains were by their side, and the air smelled different. He asked her where she wanted to go, her response was a kiss.

"Just here," she told him.

"As you wish." She giggled until they returned the horse and drove on to the next town.

One night, when they slept on sheets by the jeep he asked her what she wanted out of life now.

She didn't answer him that night, and when he woke up she was gone. She had left with the wind.

_And I want to wake up with the rain  
Falling on a tin roof  
While I'm safe there in your arms  
So all I ask is for you  
To come away with me in the night  
Come away with me_

------- --------

Love Me When I'm Gone


	5. Love me when I'm Gone

**Love Me When I'm Gone**

by Isabelle

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, lalalalala. Song by 3 Doors Down "When I'm Gone".

Summary: Mere inches from his skin was torture, miles from him was death.

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_There's another world inside of me  
That you may never see  
There's secrets in this life  
That I can't hide  
Somewhere in this darkness  
There's a light that I can't find  
Maybe it's too far away...  
Maybe I'm just blind..._

_Maybe I'm just blind..._

It took him 3 days to find her, three agonizing days full of frantic searchs and fear...fear so powerful that it ate at him. She was his connection to the nether world, without her he was just a normal Joe with a sexy accent. The slayer and her essence called to him until he burned with desire to find her, until anger and disappointment mingled with lust and passion and he swore he would take here there were she stood, even if it was in front of 101 people.

He found her standing in front of a jukebox singing 'La Bamba' in an old diner that served hash browns as a special.

Their eyes met and he knew she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Both were thirsty with need, their cotton mouths sticking to their throats in a succulent motion.

He walked up to her, grabbed her hand and kept walking to the back of the restaurant, dove into the bathroom, shut the door behind him and pushed her against the bathroom tile.

She responded just as quick, feverish kisses galloping along his neck, sucking his ear loabs and murmuring words of love forget and renewed.

He ran his hand up her bare legs, pulling her on top of him and against the wall, groping her tender breast until she gasped in pain.

_So hold me when I'm here  
Love me when I'm wrong  
Hold me when I'm scared  
And love me when I'm gone_

"Mine!" he hissed against the skin of her collarbone. "Mine!" he repeated, as he smelled the dirt on her skin from not bathing in those days. "Mine!" as he sucked her tongue between his lips, until they were rose red and swollen.

"Yours!" she reponsed, rubbing herself against his hardened cock, grasping the little hairs on the nape of his neck. "Yours!" as she looked into his eyes, while lowering herself on him, letting him enter her in exquisite slowness that had her hips thrusting down, shaking with desperation. "Yours!" as she came, shuddering against him, shuddering was life to her body until all that was left was rumbles of pleasure-filled lovemaking.

Once they were sated they rocked once more against each other, renewing vibes lost for seconds, starting a cycle, she was sure would never end.

This is what she wanted out of life.

Just this.

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_Everything I am  
And everything you need  
I'll also be the one  
You wanted me to be  
I'll never let you down  
Even if I could  
I'd give up everything  
If only for your good  
So hold me when I'm here  
Love me when I'm wrong  
You can hold me when I'm scared  
You won't always be there  
So love me when I'm gone_

When they reached the car he asked her if she was hungry. She nodded and they had hash browns with too much salt in the little diner by the side of the solitary road.

On the way back to the jeep he placed his duster around her thin shoulders, to save her from the chilling night. The cook at the diner watched them walk back to their car, shaking his head at the blonde couple, while they walked hand in hand to their next stop. You see just about anything in Montana.

He suggested heading for Canada, and maybe reaching Alaska but she told him the golden tone would leave her skin, he agreed and they headed south, for New Orleans--where you see just about everything.

They drove for 7 days, sometimes stopping at hotels and spending too many hours making love and forgetting the world around them, stopping to take pictures which they later ripped to pieces because it was an account of the unaccountable. All was well until he looked at her one day.

"Do you ever fancy spurting a couple of niblets?"

Her body went rigid and cold, from this body nothing loving could come out.

"Are you going to run away only to shag me against a bathroom wall in a fungus eatery?" he demanded, face hardening. "What is this, Buffy? What are we playing?"

She turned to look at him.

"Is this a game to you?"

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_When your education x-ray  
Can not see under my skin  
I won't tell you a damn thing  
That I could not tell my friends  
Roaming through this darkness  
I'm alive but I'm alone  
Part of me is fighting this  
But part of me is gone_

There were somethings in life that were better left unsaid, unmentioned and untouched. The fact that she wanted to die more than ever and the fact that he wanted to live were on opposing ends.

"You know this ain't--"

"What happened to the Spike I found in the School basement, carving himself with rotten knives and pieces of shattered glass?" she snapped, facing him until her eyes bore into his scalp.

He pulled drastically off the road, turning off the engine and facing her. "Ok, you need to take it out, let me have it slayer." he hissed.

"I'm not a slayer!" she screamed, hands going for a punch, hands going to rip his hair out.

"C'mon, pet! You certainly didn't have trouble, letting me have it that day behind the police station! Let me have it now!"

She screamed. "No!! That was not me!"

He held her hands, hands that formed little fist, nails that dug into her skin until it flowed with blood. But his strength was nothbg against her and she hit him, hit him like her life depended on it.

His head snapped back, hitting the closed window and smashing it.

One punch was all it took, she pulled back and saw the blood seeping into the shattered glass.

"Spike..." she whispered.

Nothing, his lashes were fine print against his tanned cheeks, his body slumped, a rag doll in her hands. She cried out once more, pulling him away from the glass, holding him against her breast, rocking him back and forth until blood covered the front seat and herself.

"I'm sorry," she kept repeating over and over.

Can an apology bring a dead soul back? Can it change the verdict between life and death, can it make her live.

Then they were all before her. All the dead that she had lost. All the dead that beckoned her name --all of them.

Her friends, her lovers, her family--all before her. The slayers before her, shaking their heads in disapproval, all ashamed of what she had become. A dead sea shell with sand in her hands, sand that seeped from her fingers.

"No!!" she cried against their calling. "I don't want to die! I want to live...I want..." She looked down at the limp man in her arms. "Wake up, Spike, please wake up."

His non-responsiveness shook her and she shivered. "No... don't leave me, please don't leave me." Tears wet his face and mingled with the blood. "Please please," she kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his hair. "I love you, you know that, please come back, please come back." She held his hands, hands that had wanted to love her so many times, hands that wanted nothing but her best. "I need you, I'll live, I promise--" she kissed his hands, brought them to her face, to feel the fading warmth in them. "I'll be better, for you I'll be better. I'll better a better woman, I swear--" she pressed his torso against her chest and realized how many times she could've killed him if he had been a real boy all of the time. How many times he could've killed her.

_So hold me when I'm here  
Love me when I'm wrong  
Hold me when I'm scared  
And love me when I'm gone  
Everything I am  
And everything you need  
I'll also be the one  
You wanted me to be  
I'll never let you down  
Even if I could  
I'd give up everything  
If only for your good_

"No you don't get to do this, Spike, dammit!" she tore off her shirt and pressed it against his bleeding head. "Fuck you, Spike if you think you can just leave me!"

The day turned into night and he still lay shallowly breathing in her arms, while she rocked him back and forth, all her tears dried, all of her strength spent.

She looked one last time into his face, touching the skin that belonged to him, touching those eye brows ever so expressive. She leaned him against the seat, making sure his shirt was tucked, and his face clean.

"Ok..." she strained herself, fresh tears coming from her eyes. "You're not leaving without me." She pulled from the back seat a long knife, one of the few remaining items from her slaying days. Expertly wielded it in her hands.

She smiled slightly as she brought it against her throat. "Always knew I'd die in a fight." she whispered.

Closing her eyes, remembering all those that had left before her, she gripped it tight in her fingers.

"Don't you dare," a soft whisper. A weak hand came against her hand.

"You're dying..." she opened her eyes and looked at him. "I killed you."

He chuckled. "You can't keep this good man down."

_So hold me when I'm here  
Love me when I'm wrong  
You can hold me when I'm scared  
You won't always be there  
So love me when I'm gone_

_Maybe I'm just blind..._

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	6. Tender, Only to One

**Tender, Only to One**

by Isabelle

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, lalalalala. Poem featured in this segment is by Stevie Smith named: _Tender Only to One._

Summary: If death was the only adventure he had left, then tears would be his weapon, tears and love.

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_Tender only to one   
Tender and true   
The petals swing   
To my fingering   
Is it you, or you, or you?_

There were times in life where tears are not the sufficient emotional outpour needed for a situation. Tears are just emotions, made into water. But water dried in the festering sun, or freezes in the cold wind. 

But tears were all she had left.

She sobbed against his hand, hanging on to it as if it were a life line, the umbilical cord to life, his life source that had kept him alive for so long. When did life became so pre-natal? When did life become blood and hate and dirt? She thought she was doing so well, where was that spirit now? Where had it fled to?

Was she dead and this was hell?

Was she the last sad person on earth?

Why was the sky so bright and cheery? Why was the night so comforting? Was she doomed to always feel empty? Skin too tight for her spirit, love too grand for her soul.

His hand pulled her up, bringing her against his chest, running his hand through her hair. A weak, used hand, one that was tired, worn and dying.

"Buffy, pet--I think I need to see a doc." he whispered against her. She was non-responsive, simply sobbing against his chest. "You can do this, Summers, c'mon." He was merely whispering, hanging on to the last thread of breath. Nothing from her, he could feel the life from him leaving him. He should know, he had taken it so many times. Life taking was his nature. He was not ready to leave her. He was not ready for her to be without him. "Please..."

It was the please that caught her attention, because Spike never asked in a polite manner. 

Her William was dying. Her William was begging her to let him live. Her William was thinking of her once more before himself and she needed to do something. Anything, even if it meant her breaking down until the point of no return. Even if it meant losing herself to save him.

"Hold on, I'm driving." With that she pushed him onto the passenger side, half his head against her chest and drove to the place called Hospital.

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_Tender only to one   
I do not know his name   
And the friend who fall   
To the petals' call   
May think my love to blame._

When she pulled up to the emergency loading section, he was not responding.

She ran into the emergency room, with his limp, thin body in her hands, her clothes covered in blood, his life, dripping to the floor in a drip drop motion.

She cried for help and the staff took him, placing him on a gurney, tubing him up, checking for a pulse, holding his head with the utmost care. 

"What happened?" the doctor asked her, as they wheeled him into a curtained room. 

"And accident...in the car...I was in shock for sometime." Her responses where automatic, her voice was monotone. 

"Right, get her out of here," he told his head nurse.

"Is he going to be ok?" her voice was small, her tone was vulnerable.

The doctor met her face, tears were one with her skin. "Beth, why don't you take care of her, please?"

Kind hands led her away from Spike, he was fading from her view, he was away--his skin was more than 2 inches from her and she couldn't bear it. She couldn't stand it, if he were to die she would lay by his grave for the rest of her life so she would not be away from him. 

He was her life line.

-------- --------

_Tender only to one   
This petal holds a clue   
The face it shows   
But too well knows   
Who I am tender to._

Time is another dimension of life in which we don't understand. All he knew was that if death was the only adventure he had left, then tears would be his weapon, tears and love. 

She needed him, more than ever. He could see her already in his dreams, lost and alone with no friend and no life outside of his grave.

He would not rest in peace if she were not at peace--this was not his time. Time needed to come to him...when he was ready.

So when the doctor pleaded with him to stay with them, he did. He came back.

If you were to ask him some time later after that he would've said: "Bloody hell, I saw myself leave my body. Then I came back."

Then he slept. He slept for lifetimes. In his dreams, she was always happy, happy with him and her family and her friends. They were all together, going to the beach, laughing at Giles (good naturedly, of course), and at times they were alone.

Alone, like those days on the beach. Alone, for days and days just buried inside of her heat, just looking at each other like there was no time, tender only to one--and that was him.

Soft kisses and caresses, laughing at silly jokes, just holding her small hand in his, loving her like he always wanted.

He was in another dimension. Until time came for him.

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_Tender only to one,   
Last petal's latest breath   
Cries out aloud   
From the icy shroud   
His name, his name is Death._

Buffy's patience was thinning as she sat next to him, day after day, watching the paleness of his cheeks inhabit them daily. No movement from him, no response, just the doctor who assured her that he would wake up, his wounds were not as serious as they appeared.

But she was only holding on to his hand, because it was the only part of him that they allowed her to hold. She desperately wanted to lie in the bed with him, hold him against her, tell him--no, beg him to come back, tell him she was sorry, that this was all her fault that she would never hurt him again.

But they didn't let her, so she whispered it from her seat next to him.

Every night she told him the same thing, she told him until she said it without thinking, it was now part of her, her promises had been sealed with her lips and carried out by her body.

On the sixth day of the hospital saga, with her head resting on his lap, his hand tightly enveloped in hers --he stirred.

She immediately jumped up, wild eyes searching him for movements.

"Spike?" she spoke to him. "Come back to me, Spike, please come back."

One bright blue eye opened to her. "Mum?"

She laughed, tears showing themselves once more. "If I wasn't so happy to see you awake, I might be insulted."

Maybe it was her smiling face, maybe it was her tears. Regardless, he woke up, got better and was soon ready to be let to go home.

They just needed to find that

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Waltz with Me


	7. Waltz with Me

**Waltz With Me**

by Isabelle

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, lalalalala.Lyrics belong to _Tonic_, and are titled the same as this chapter.

Summary: Dancing, was not dancing unless they were dancing.

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He told her that the first thing he wanted to do when he left that place was to go dancing. Dancing until their legs gave out in exhaustion, dance until there was no tomorrow, and show off what they knew.

She told him she basically knew how to move to funky music, that ballroom was not really her style.

He had pulled her down on the bed with him and told her he would teach her.

He would teach her how to dance... how to really dance.

She had laughed at the fact that he claimed he knew how to dance. He smiled shyly and confessed that Dru loved dancing...plus he was raised a proper gentleman.

She told him she always wanted to marry a gentleman.

They said nothing of the M word, skipped it and ignored it and went dancing.

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The place he took her was called Dario's, he had bought her a strappy red dress, with two high slits on the side and plenty of cleavage, new black shoes fit for Fred Astaire and a tight bun on her head that was guaranteed to survive all of the twists and twirls he had promised her.

She gasped as she saw him walk out, dressed in a black tailored suit, with a smooth red silk shitty, open at the neck, scarf stuffed in his pocket.

"Who are you trying to impress?" she teased him, pulling him against her. 

"Just you." he smiled at her, eating her alive with his eyes, devouring her with his thoughts. 

"It worked," she spoke against his lips, silken lips. Lips of Spike.

_Waltz with me   
My love   
Tell me what   
You're dreaming of   
Hold me now   
We can share our love   
Waltz with me My love_

He had taken her hand and took her to the place, held her against him when the crowds got too big, bought her drinks and growled an earthly growl to guys who gave her a too-appreciative-look.

When the music started he told her, "For once, let me lead."

And she did, and by the time the second Salsa song ended, she knew the steps. His slayer was always a bright one. When Bachata started, he held her flush against his body, never breaking eye contact except when he twirled her, and spinned her, and left her out of breath.

And when this big-boobed, French girl wanted to cut in and dance with him, he kindly told her that he was taken. In French.

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She always wondered how an Englishman got gifted with such delicious hip movement. She realized that night that it was all because of Merengue. Thank god for Spike's hips, hips of Spike.

When she wanted to sit it out, take a table by the corner, sip her drink and just be held, he let her do so.

"I like this place." she told him. "I like New Orleans."

He had laughed and asked her how long she wanted to stay here. 

"As long as you like, my love." she had told him. She had never called him her love before. 

He didn't let her go for the rest of the dances, for the rest of their 'break', for the rest of the night, for the rest of their lives.

They came three times a week to the place, the staff knew them as the white couple who could dance and when they danced they stole the show. She learned all of his dances and they moved together like there was nothing but cells between them.

_Paint your face   
For me   
Only here Is where I want to be   
Next to you   
While I watch you sleep   
Waltz with me My love_

They loved New Orleans and it loved them. And one night he woke to find her starring at him while he slept. He asked her if she was ok.

"Spike...I want to live. I do." tears were running down her cheeks. "But I don't know how."

He had smiled at her, and kissed her nose. "Let me show you."

"You'll show me? You'll bless me with your gift of life?"

"Not a gift. Just love. Love will make you live."

"Then bless me. Bless me, William."

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_Tell me something   
Will we be broken down   
Tell me something   
Will we be broken down   
Will we be broken down_

They left New Orleans when she got pregnant. He moved her to a Connecticut suburb, took up writing about his tales as a vampire and made loads of money.

Their daughter was named Joyce Alexandra (for Xander), their son was named William Reginald, like his father.

He made sure their house had a white picket fence, and that she didn't have to work.

And when their children asked them when they met, they always told them 'when our lives started'.

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The End

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